


Different Kind of Gorgeous

by greyscalemuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bittersweet, Implied Drug Use, Implied Jolto, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Prostitution, Sholtolock, i'll be sure to mail your heart back to you after ripping it out, safe sex practices, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyscalemuse/pseuds/greyscalemuse
Summary: When Major James Sholto is on leave from Afghanistan, he takes a very late night walk. And if he just so happens to meet a man willing to exchange money for a certain kind of company for a night and forget the next morning, then he certainly wouldn't complain.This is how he meets Sherlock Holmes.The tricky part, he learns, is forgetting.





	Different Kind of Gorgeous

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So this is really really rough and mostly was just me playing with an old headcanon of the things Sherlock would do to get high. I tossed James into the mix just to see what would happen. This is the result. I'm sorry but also you're welcome.
> 
> Barely proofread, no beta, no Britpick. I didn't even do research. Well, I did minimal research. It's just my own messed up sentence structure and a lot of feelings.

The first time they met was in a less than savory part of town that James would often “walk” when he was feeling restless while on leave. He got his fair share of catcalls from the boys that lined the street as he strode down looking like he had some kind of purpose – exude enough authority and you were bound to attract the miserable drug-addicted twinks that infested the path of his nightly walk.

And honestly, this miserable drug-addicted twink was no different than the others if it weren’t for what he’d said.

“Looking to have some fun on leave, officer?”

It gave James pause and he stilled to a stop, turning to face a young man – mid twenties maybe – with a smile too smug for an urchin wearing ripped up sweatpants and a grease-stained tee shirt under a tattered wind breaker with what was once neon blue streaks, if it hadn’t been for the cheaply colored reflective fabric chipping and peeling to a dull gray.

“Repeat that?”

The lanky brunette ignored him, instead pushing off where he was very precariously leaning against the brick of an abandoned building to stand mere inches from him. “I’m good at following orders,” he purred in invitation, a coy bite to his lip a juvenile and clumsy attempt to flirting as he started to giggle inappropriately.

From this distance, James could see the sheen of sweat glossing over the man’s forehead and the slight jitteriness to his posture as he tried to hold himself up to his full height. He could also see his eyes – an unearthly shade of blue in the dim and unpredictable light of failing streetlamps. He wasn’t high at that particular moment, that much was obvious, but he was definitely searching for a way to get there.

“Not interested. I have a wife waiting for me back home,” James answered curtly, though he didn’t move immediately.

“Which is exactly why you’re down here, looking for someone who looks just like him to occupy your time and forget about all the domesticities of being out of a war zone.”

“Him? Him who?”

The scraggly addict, with his prominent cheekbones framed by long grease laden curls, just laughed in response before fishing a condom out of his wind breaker pocket, “It’ll cost you twenty.”

“You flatter me with your assumption that I need to actually pay for sex – let alone with a cheap flea-bitten whore like you.”

Another grin and a soft amused hum, “You’re paying for the condom. Sex is free.” He slipped the condom back into his pocket and took a step back. “Just thought I might have a chance, since you stopped to even look at me.”

James didn’t get the chance to reply as the other shot him a wink and a quick pucker to his lips that accentuated the curve of his mouth before he retreated quickly and scaled a nearby chain link fence, and disappeared into the dark.

James did his best to wipe the view of the prostitute’s arse from his mind, but the mild interest tingling between his legs made it difficult.

He’d call back on the vision later as he got off in the shower that next morning while his wife tended to breakfast for his kids.

 

* * *

 

Two nights later and James was on another “walk”. A similar string of drug-addicted twinks as before, with their same catcalls and their same propositions, but none familiar. It was all for naught, he began to think, until a soft rumble near his feet brought him to a halt again.

“Back again, Officer?”

He looked down to see the same man, wearing the same clothes from two nights ago, crouched and grinning and licking his lips.

“How do you know I’m an officer in the military?”

The assumed vagrant shrugged with one shoulder and laughed, “You have that look,” he accented the ‘k’ with a harsh click to his tongue before he looked up through a veil of dirty curls. “Posture, your walk, the commanding tone to your voice… it’s all there. Besides… looking at you makes me hard…”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Maybe not to you – plenty to me. I’ve always liked getting bent over by soldiers and they seem to like me. Everyone has a thing… Mister…”

“Major,” James corrected harshly.

“Major,” he spoke in an awed whisper before letting out a low whistle. “Had a couple of Lieutenants in the past, but never a Major.”

“You said it’s twenty for the condom. How much for without?”

“Told you. Sex is free…” he started to push himself up to standing, though was admittedly a little wobbly on his feet. “But I’m a cocaine addict who fucks people for money and drugs – so I suggest you take the condom.”

“Are you high now?”

“If I was… would I be offering to sell you a condom for twenty?”

 

* * *

 

Major James Sholto, highly respected commanding officer, married father of two, and picturesque upstanding member of society, currently had fistfuls of the mangy brown curls of a stranger, fingers digging into the back of his scalp, as he fucked a pair of gorgeous lips behind a skip in an alleyway. He swallowed back a groan before he looked down to see his sheathed cock disappear in an eager mouth that vibrated with deep, guttural moans with each thrust. He stared down at those blue-gray eyes and for a moment, was affronted by the feel of arid desert climate and deep, near violet eyes shining bright up at him before the vision shattered and the murky London landscape chilled his bones.

He pulled the man’s head back, just out of reach of the tip of his cock and stared down at his face, saliva running down his chin as his tongue stretched out for contact. He withdrew it, biting his lip before his eyes flicked upwards and he smiled. “Second thoughts, Major?”

James ran the back of his fingers along those dirt smudged cheekbones as he contemplated that face and the lithe body hiding beneath the filthy clothes. Slowly, he released his grip and leaned back against the wall. “Finish me up,” he whispered in a soft, breathy command.

This nameless stranger with a beautiful face and poetic eyes did just that – twisting his tongue in an act of debauchery that transcended your average paid for blow job.

James’ wife had been waiting up for him when he returned. They argued, with hissed whispers so they wouldn’t wake the children that were already sitting silently at the top of the stairs.

Major James Sholto, highly respected commanding officer, married father of two, with picturesque skeletons shoved into his metaphorical closet – hung up right next to decades of society-imposed guilt and a rainbow flag – hidden behind the painting of the perfect family that was beginning to crack under stress.

 

* * *

  
He didn’t take another “walk” until his wife started to (temporarily) move out of the house, five days before he was set to return to active duty. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected to find. He’d assumed the pretty-faced transient had moved on to a new spot to find other soldiers on leave who couldn’t stand their “at home” lives. None the less, he’d assumed wrong as he came to his predicted stop in front of a lounging brunette, half laying on the pavement with his shoulders propped against the brick, fingers steepled against his chin.

“Rough time with the Missus, Major?” the bored drawl was hoarse and gravely, as if he hadn’t spoken for days before that moment.

James gave him a quick once over. He was still wearing the same wind breaker and tee shirt – the only thing different was the pair of sweatpants looked newer and he was missing his shoes. He didn’t comment on either of these things, instead just offering out a hand.

“Still selling condoms for twenty?”

“Fifteen, but just because I like you.”

“How about a shower instead?”

 

* * *

 

The sound of running water was a welcome one in the painfully empty townhouse – to have that reminder that James wasn’t completely alone as he made tea and cobbled together a light snack for his guest, as it were.

He didn’t lift his head from slicing an apple as he heard the light padding of bare footsteps on the pristine hardwood floor. It wasn’t until he caught sight of a flash of bare thigh in his peripheral vision that his eyes met with the naked body of his guest, sitting on his counter, dripping shower water, and toweling off his hair.

James set aside the knife and food to turn his attention completely on the nude man in his kitchen. His eyes raked over pale skin turned pink by warm water – marred with an array of scrapes and bruises, and dotted with the occasional freckle along his neck and shoulders. As James moved between the other’s legs, he tried hard to keep his focus off the track marks that littered thin and willowy arms and just how many ribs he could count. Instead, he reached up and ran his fingers through the damp, tangled rat’s nest of brunette hair that frizzed outwards in a messy halo of brown that gave this man – a drug-addicted twink whore, James reminded himself – an ethereal, downright angelic, aura.

“I’m James, by the way,” he remarked, only to be interrupted.

“Major James Sholto, thirty seven years old, married with two children – a girl and a boy – very photogenic… carries two condoms behind his driver’s license… I assume because of your evening strolls where male prostitutes tend to congregate…” A sombre twist to his lips failed to bring the smile to his eyes, “I nicked your wallet while we were walking back. I left it on the sink. You can call me ‘Shezza’ – since we’re getting acquainted.” He rolled his eyes at the disbelieving eyebrow raise that James shot in his direction, “Okay, fine. Or ‘Sherlock’ if that’s what you’d prefer.”

James nodded a few times as he let that name sink in. “Sherlock, hm? I suppose that’s as good a name as any.”

“I’d hope so… since it’s my name.”

James pushed himself away and crossed his arms, leaning back against the kitchen island. He paused, pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips as he took one more long look at the newly introduced ‘Sherlock’. He sucked in a long breath before he tilted his head and spoke in a level and casual tone.

“And what are you expecting, Sherlock?”

This earned him a dark chuckle before Sherlock pressed his palms to his thighs. “I assumed I’d be earning that shower.”

“Then I suggest you get to your feet, bend over that counter and show me that pretty arsehole of yours.”

Sherlock instinctively drew his posture up a little stiffer, but he didn’t move until the final and commanding, “Now” gritted through James’ teeth. Like a private snapping to attention, Sherlock scrambled off the counter and presented himself for James’ inspection. Hands on each arse cheek, he spread himself open, displaying a slick, stretched hole, ready and gaping to be filled. A sick spike of desire twisted in James’ gut as he fought the smirk from twitching his lips upwards. He staved off the burn of guilt that threatened to follow by reaching over and plucking an apple slice from the cutting board. He took a bite and tilted his head, waiting and watching until finally – Sherlock began to squirm under the scrutiny.

“Filthy little thing, aren’t you? You’d let any man stuff his cock into you as long as he walked like a soldier,” he chuckled at the answering fast intake of breath. He caught the other off guard. Good. “Go on… show me how ready you are. Fuck yourself with those lovely long fingers of yours.” He waved dismissively as Sherlock looked over his shoulder and placed one hand on the edge of the counter and the other, teasing his hole with the very tips of his fingers. “Waiting, Sherlock.”

When Sherlock sunk two fingers into himself right off the bat, James’ cock jumped. He didn’t fully register undoing his trousers until he heard the clatter of his hands undoing his belt. He rolled on a condom he’d fished from his pocket and tossed one into Sherlock’s line of sight. “So you don’t get come all over my cabinets,” he explained quickly, to which Sherlock took the condom obediently, removing his fingers from inside himself, and shakily tore open the package. James reached out and stilled Sherlock’s hands with a gentle hold to his wrists and whispered into his hair.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, sir…” Sherlock replied, shyly, having lost all his bravado now that he stood in a fully lit kitchen and not on his knees in a dark alleyway with James’ cock in his mouth. Ironic. James gently guided Sherlock’s hands, helping him ease the condom onto his leaking cock before he pressed a gentle kiss to the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

“That’s a good man,” he praised gently, taking note the way the endearment colored Sherlock’s cheeks a sweet rose, “Hand me that lube right there?” he gestured to the bottle he’d laid out on the counter and Sherlock took it without question, dabbing it onto James’ fingers as he held them out for him. He exhaled, clutching onto the edge of the counter and waited in anticipation.

There was a noticeable hiccup as Sherlock sucked back a shocked gasp when the tip of James’ cock first pressed inside. James paused and rubbed the back of Sherlock’s neck, luring him into a more relaxed position. He ran his thumbs down Sherlock’s back, tracing the wayward paths left by rivulets of water as he eased himself slowly. He paused for a moment, brushing Sherlock’s hair to the side, away from his neck. The gentle gesture caused Sherlock to turn his head to the side, exposing one cheek to a kiss. James took advantage of the opportunity, barely brushing his lips across a high cheekbone before finding his temple and whispering to it.

“Whores shouldn’t look as sweet as you – bent over my counter with my cock inside you – and yet you look like this.” Sherlock’s head snapped forward and there was a loud choked sound of surprise as his hands scrambled across the counter with that first thrust.

“Fuck!” he managed to wheeze out, feet sliding further apart as James grabbed him by the hips and started to pound into him. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK!” each word varied as Sherlock struggled to stress the ‘f’ or the ‘ck’, sometimes forgetting the other half of the syllable, before he slammed his palms to the tile and all sound failed him for a blissful second. “Oh… god..” He let out a high pitched whine and crossed his arms in front of him to bury his face into the crooks of his elbows as he just got lost, floating somewhere just within consciousness. He pressed his nails into each palm as he tried to keep himself grounded somehow, still whimpering a mantra of ‘oh god’.

He got the briefest of warnings to grab onto the counter before he was pulled back suddenly to where only his support was the tightest grip he could manage on the very edge of the countertop. He stared down at the tile, mouth gaping as sound failed him with each thrust. His cock throbbed, but every time he tried to move one of his hands, he threatened to lose his balance. He was decisively at the mercy of the man fucking him hard from behind, flooding him with sensations that overloaded his mind, turning his entire body into an exposed live wire, sparking electricity and… “Oh dear fucking Christ…”

James caught him and pulled him back against his body, just holding him close as he ground his hips against him three more times. They stood still, James’ breath hot against Sherlock’s shoulder before he pulled out and released him from his hold, having to catch him again before his knees hit the floor.

“Interesting…” James whispered as he held Sherlock flush to him, one hand on his hip as the other wrapped around his chest to keep Sherlock still, lips to his ear. “You know what I’d love to see right now?” there was a meek ‘what?’ answering him before he started to let Sherlock stand on his own. “You on your knees… using your hand to come. Will you show me? Show me how pretty you are when you come.”

Sherlock nodded automatically as he dropped to his knees on James’ command. He looked up and watched as James tied off and discarded his own condom, unable to help the lick to his lips at the sight of James’ flaccid penis. James didn’t miss the gesture and he smirked a little.

“Have a fondness for my cock, Sherlock?”

“Yes sir…” There was the soft clacking of a lube bottle hitting the floor.

“Shut up and come for me.”

Sherlock obediently slicked up his own palm and took himself in hand. His head had dropped as his eyes closed, his breath picking up. It felt strange and sterile to jack himself off with a condom on and he just about jumped when he felt James’ fingers gently press into his scalp, tangling in his curls and pulling his cheek to his hip. The warmth, the light scratches to the base of his scalp, the human contact – all of it helped him forget about the condom.

He shuddered and moaned into James’ skin as he came, panting heavily. He hadn’t realized he’d been shivering until James had helped him off the floor. Sherlock bowed his head and kept his eyes averted as he cleared his throat and began to collect himself.

“Thank you… for the shower.”

He turned to discard the condom, collect his towel, and head back to where his clothes were – all with James staring at him.

The quiet finally broke and Sherlock came to a stop halfway down the hall before he turned and padded back, still very naked. “What did you say?”

“I said – do you have a place to stay?”

Sherlock pushed his bangs from his face and nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah… I… it just doesn’t have running water… or electricity… couldn’t pay the bill.”

James pursed his lips before he nodded, collecting the small serving tray of apple slices and grabbing a bottle of water. “How many more fucks do I get if I offer a warm bed?”

“For how long?”

“Three days.”

“What about your wife and kids?”

“Away at her mother’s.”

Sherlock nodded, the soft laugh having a bitter bite to it, “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“I could just kick you out.”

Sherlock’s back straightened and he look James in the eye as the other man stood across from him. He reached out and grabbed an apple slice, popping half of it into his mouth and taking a bite. “So. I keep my mouth shut and I get to stay here with you.”

“How many times do I get to fuck you, Sherlock?”

“How ever many times you want.”

 

* * *

 

Having a young, gorgeous man spread out beneath him – squirming and panting and begging and coming – did wonders for James’ self esteem. It didn’t matter that said young, gorgeous man, a decade his junior he found out, had been cruising street corners looking for men just like James – sad, lonely gay men who were desperate to be wanted – just days before. It didn’t matter that everything they did had to be done with the utmost care, with layers of man-made materials in between their touch and bare skin.

All that mattered was he was here and he was practically sobbing for release with a flush on his face as James’ gloved fingers massaged his prostate in ways that made his whole body quake. All that mattered was how his fists twisted above his head, the way his legs spread wide, and the sinful registers his voice achieved beneath James’ fingers.

There was a whimper and a ‘please’ and the kiss that followed to silence him was by sheer accident, but in no way unwelcome.

It started brief, a mere brushing of parted lips before they pressed forward and tongues twisted together. Sherlock’s fingers pressed into James’ jaw as he held the man’s head still so he could properly savor it, closing his eyes and holding on for long as he could before the need for air took priority over memorizing the taste of James’ mouth. They pulled away with a few more chaste kisses to follow and Sherlock was dropped straight back into his toe curling torture, arching his head back and exposing his neck to the onslaught of bites to follow.

His orgasm, when it was finally brought past the brink, was earth-shattering. Everything around Sherlock skewed and splintered before slowly, very slowly, coming back into view. He had already been cleaned up by the time he’d come fully back to his senses, a now familiar fuzzy feeling settling over his limbs as he turned his head to see James cleaning up in the adjoining bathroom. He smiled, humming lightly before he sluggishly tried to get to his knees. He collapsed halfway up, and instead slithered onto his belly to the edge of the bed and reaching out to use James’ hips to help right himself up.

Neither of them said anything right away, they just shared a look and James dutifully pulled Sherlock’s hair away from his face, hands cradling his cheeks before leaning in and kissing him again. It felt glorious and warm, despite the soured taste of Sherlock’s mouth – but most of all, it felt very very real.

James didn’t want to let it go.

 

* * *

 

The subject James had been trying to avoid eventually came up with Sherlock’s thighs draped over his own and his cheek resting on his chest. It was a quiet and clumsy question, riddled with insecurity that sadly made James smile.

“So am I like him? This captain of yours?”

“How do you know he’s a captain?”

“First time in the alley. You called me ‘Captain’. I assumed it was a safe guess.”

“Thought you didn’t guess.”

His smile widened at Sherlock’s eye roll and muttered ‘you’re stalling’ before he gave into temptation and brought him up for a kiss to the forehead.

“No. Far from.” The kiss to the forehead led to another on the tip of Sherlock’s nose, which lead to a deeper one that had them both sighing like two lovesick schoolboys. Something that managed to put James at ease but also sink an ill-feeling sense of dread deep into his gut.

Sherlock returned to his resting place and became very still aside from the light drumming of fingers to James’ sternum. James waited patiently in silence as he could feel Sherlock calculating and second guessing and waiting before finally propping his head back up and looking at James in the eye.

“I’m not use to this.”

“What part?”

“Any of it. The mind-blowing sex, the coming, the care… all of this is new to me.”

“I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that.”

“You don’t have to respond. I just wanted you to know… that’s all… and… thank you. For… I don’t know. Wanting me, if that’s what you call it.”

“Yeah… that’s what you call it.”

That night they made love as well as two strangers could – slow and shadowed and soft. Neither could believe their luck. They fell asleep holding onto to each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And the next morning, James woke up to an empty bed and his wallet on his pillow. He was missing forty quid and paper clipped to his last banknote was a post-it that simply said ‘Sorry’.

He didn’t go for another walk and he was back in Afghanistan before the week was over.

 

* * *

 

“What is this?” James had been ushered by his superiors into an office he did not recognize after being pulled off base – all of which was enough to rouse suspicion – and judging by the looks on their faces, it wasn’t to congratulate him for his years of good service.

“You are leading a group of new recruits into battle in a few days time.”

“Am I?”

“You are.”

The finality of this statement lead very little room for James to argue, however, he still managed. “And why would I do that?”

“Because it’s a direct order from the government for which you serve and if that’s not enough, to preserve your own dignity.”

“Failing to understand what you mean…”

A file was shoved into his hands and he cracked it open, frowning at its contents. The picture alone was enough to shove a knife of dread into his gut, but the arrest warrant behind it gave it a slight twist.

“I suppose I don’t need to explain to you what that is.”

“You do not, sir…” James conceded, his eyes fixing back to the dark photographs taken in a shabby part of town where he and an old acquaintance had met three years prior. “But I still fail to see why I should put my men in danger because of it.”

“Then how about this – that arrest warrant you’re holding has yet to be filed. It could easily disappear with your cooperation. However, if you refuse, that little whore you were seen with will be picked up and tossed into jail and then prison. I very much doubt he’d do well in either.”

James sucked in a breath and slid his eyes to the man making the threat before he squared his shoulders. “And if I accept?”

“Its as I said – poof. It never happened. Additionally? He’ll be sent to rehab to get some help for his bad habits and hopefully – it’ll never happen again. Mind you, you have very little say in this matter.”

James shook his head as he gauged the two options.

“Are you doubting the readiness of your troops, Major?”

“No. I am doubting the motives…”

“Motives are not your concern. Direct order, Major. You will do as told or risk these skeletons to be aired out in the public eye. If you are lucky? It will be standard procedure. If you are not – then it all goes as planned.”

“I… what do you mean ‘as planned’?”

“That is a question you do not have the clearance to ask, Major. Do. As. You’re. Told.”

He was escorted out and back without sharing another word. He prepared his troops for battle.

 

* * *

 

He was sent home for his troubles and what he faced was far worse than barely escaping with his life as the press stripped him down to the bone. He couldn’t show his face anywhere, let alone his normal late night walk route – terrified of the jeering whores who wouldn’t want to take his money more than the audience he’d acquired who would judge him for even wanting to give his money to them.

And for his trouble, he received confirmation that Sherlock Holmes had been admitted into rehab for a cocaine and morphine addiction and a sincere letter of apology from one Mycroft Holmes in the post a week after he took residence in his old family home – large, with a full staff and tucked away from the public that wanted to see him hang.

It felt awfully similar to a post-it clipped to a banknote in James’ opinion and couldn’t make the guilt go away.

But, by god, it hurt far less than the emails he’d received a year later that he couldn’t bring himself to respond to, and a blog he couldn’t help but bookmark.

The wedding invitation, however, nearly finished what the Afghan infantry failed to do.

He almost let it.

 

* * *

 

The knock on his door surprised him. The person responsible for the knock surprised him even more. He leaned against it and nodded to the healthy looking brunette, with bright alert eyes, and shorter, though still slightly wild, curls.

“Sherlock Holmes – to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat, obviously having rehearsed this meeting a number of times before he finally stood before it. “Is it alright if I come in?”

“Certainly,” James stepped aside, allowing Sherlock to glide in to join him after a few stuttering steps. “How can I help– mmph!”

If the knock and the person behind the knock were surprising, the kiss had been absolutely unpredictable, though in no way unwelcome. After regaining some sense after the initial shock, James found it as easy to kiss Sherlock as it had been years prior. He tasted different – mouthwash, cigarettes, coffee – but he still felt the same. The kiss was urgent but he would pull back just slightly in a shy gesture that reeked of a self-consciousness this man had no reason to carry.

“Check on all of your clients this way, Mr. Holmes?” James whispered a bit breathlessly, burying his nose into the hair that smelled now of rich shampoo and hair product when Sherlock pressed his face to the crook of James’ neck and clung to his back in desperation that James could relate to.

“You’re okay…”

“In the very vaguest meanings of the word.”

The same bitter laugh brought with it memories of sex and guilt that James had shelved behind the skeletons and the rainbow flag, out of sight of the public who flung open his closet doors and drug out what they could find for the printed press. They’d remained untouched.

“Do you know how hard it was to pretend I didn’t know you?”

“You seemed to do a fine job.”

“Don’t.”

“Then tell me why you’re here.”

James reached up with his right hand to pull Sherlock’s questing fingers from his cheek, repeating his question, “Why are you here?”

To which Sherlock countered with one of his own. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm considering an epilogue.


End file.
